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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23063497">Song of Hope</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meepzer/pseuds/Meepzer'>Meepzer</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hadestown - Mitchell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Epilogue, F/M, Musicals, Theatre, be ready to be sad because that’s all this is, sad boy hours</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 07:40:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,939</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23063497</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meepzer/pseuds/Meepzer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Only lost melodies and faces sparked in Orpheus’s mind, always fleeting and out of reach. Dreamlike surges of what he had seen, what he had almost forgotten, and what he had loved and lost and never stopped loving.<br/>-<br/>An epilogue of Hadestown. Orpheus and Eurydice are separated, but still connected through song.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eurydice/Orpheus (Hadestown)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Song of Hope</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was for Flowers &amp; Machinery, a Hadestown Zine! <br/>I haven’t posted a fic here in years so I hope this is good</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The world was quieter. </p>
<p>The world was quieter now that Orpheus did not sing. </p>
<p>Though his otherworldly voice once rang out throughout the trees, echoing for everyone in the world to hear, now no one could. </p>
<p>He just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bring himself to. Not without her. </p>
<p>So now Orpheus wandered the Earth, silently.</p>
<p>Orpheus’s head was quieter, too. </p>
<p>He had forgotten the songs into which he had once put in so much work. His mind had become devoid of light, like the darkest reaches of the ocean. </p>
<p>Only lost melodies and faces sparked in his mind, always fleeting and out of reach. Dreamlike surges of what he had seen, what he had almost forgotten, and what he had loved and lost and never stopped loving. </p>
<p>His memories were dying embers. Hot for a moment, then reduced to ash. </p>
<p>And amidst all the burning blooms of memories, was her. </p>
<p>Her face. </p>
<p>Eurydice. </p>
<p>Her sad, dark eyes, that seemed to have lived a thousand lifetimes, stared into his. More than anything else, Orpheus would see her in his mind as he last saw her face in real life: her eyes wet with tears, and a smile she meant to be reassuring quivering on her lips. </p>
<p>Her smile. Her damned beautiful smile. Gone forever. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair, even though he knew it was, because it was a test; a stupid test he knew he failed, because he couldn’t have known she was there all along, and he couldn’t have known they were both almost there, and he couldn’t have lived with himself knowing she was left behind, so he had to turn around, even if their freedom was only a few steps away. </p>
<p>“It’s me,” her voice whispered. </p>
<p>“Orpheus.” A voice. Smooth and low. </p>
<p>Orpheus was kneeling in front of a great tree. He often sat alone in the shade of trees, lost in his thoughts. He hadn’t the strength to do much else. </p>
<p>“Orpheus,” the voice repeated, louder now. </p>
<p>Orpheus barely turned his head, eyes focusing on a figure behind him. A sleek man in a silver suit, with wise and familiar eyes: Hermes. </p>
<p>Hermes was watching the boy. He thought for a moment about what to say, a daunting task. </p>
<p>He knew Orpheus. He knew not to ask, “Are you okay?” because they both knew the answer to that question. </p>
<p>He knew not to ask, ”Where have you been?” because it was a useless question for the god of travelers to ask. </p>
<p>And he knew not to ask, “What are you doing here?” because Hermes knew that there wasn’t an answer. </p>
<p>Hermes knew all of this, but he did not know what to say. </p>
<p>So he said nothing. Instead, he waved his hand, Orpheus’s guitar appearing in his grasp. Orpheus had long abandoned it, his love of music and motivation to play it gone with Eurydice. Under Hermes’ care, it remained just as Orpheus had left it: a little worn, but still glossy and tuned, the wood a deep chestnut ombré. </p>
<p>He finally spoke. “I kept it for you.”</p>
<p>At the sight of his guitar, Orpheus’s eyes—though cold and dim—grew noticeably misty. </p>
<p>Hermes stepped closer to him. He kneeled, placing the guitar beside Orpheus. </p>
<p>“I miss hearing you play it, Orpheus.”</p>
<p>Silence.</p>
<p>“I miss your voice. And your words.”</p>
<p>Orpheus stared into the distance for a little longer, but his lips quivered. His eyes flitted to the guitar for a moment, lingering with a fleeting sense of longing, but he did not speak. </p>
<p>“I’m sure she would miss hearing you, too. She would never want you to stop singing. You know that.”</p>
<p>Orpheus began to shake his head. “I— I can’t.” His voice trembled, cracked from disuse. “I can’t—I don’t—”</p>
<p>“You can, Orpheus. I know you can. Not just for her, but for you. You can’t let your life be meaningless, be silent. She wouldn’t want that. I don’t want that. And I know you don’t want that, deep down.”</p>
<p>It was then Orpheus turned to Hermes, chin wobbling, and burst into tears. </p>
<p>Hermes rested his arm on the boy’s shuddering shoulders. “It’s all right.”</p>
<p>“I miss her,” he wept. </p>
<p>“I know, I know. It’s okay. Let it all out.” </p>
<p>And so Orpheus did just that, releasing a tsunami of tears that he had held back for too long. Ever patient with the boy, Hermes sat with him the entire time. </p>
<p>When the air grew quiet again, and Orpheus’s tears dried on his face, he stared at his guitar. </p>
<p>“I can’t do it anymore,” he murmured. He met Hermes’s gaze. “Sing. I—I forgot all of my songs.” He shook his head, eyebrows knitting together. “I’m sorry, I…” </p>
<p>“That’s not true. There’s one song I know you could never forget.”</p>
<p>Orpheus looked back at the guitar. “You mean…” He swallowed hard. “Do you think I can still play it? Like I used to?”</p>
<p>“That melody will always be with you. I know you’ll be able to sing it—if, of course, you think you’re ready.”</p>
<p>Orpheus looked at the wing-footed god, and then at his guitar, drawing in a deep breath. He closed his eyes for a moment. He thought of Eurydice. Her face, her soft features, her warm smile. Her hand in his. </p>
<p>And then he asked Hermes another question. “Do you think, if I sing loud enough, she’ll be able to hear me?” </p>
<p>Hermes looked cautiously at the boy. There certainly was power behind Orpheus’s voice, especially paired with the old song of the gods, but there was no way to know if the lost souls of Hadestown would be able to hear it, so far underground. </p>
<p>“Maybe,” said Hermes, honestly. </p>
<p>Orpheus brushed a lock of hair from his eyes, trying to gather strength, and stood. He gingerly took the guitar in his arms and pulled the strap over his shoulders, biting the inside of his cheek nervously. He looked at Hermes again. </p>
<p>Hermes nodded. “Go on.”</p>
<p>His fingers found the strings, pressing them in a familiar chord. It felt natural, it felt right, to be holding it again. </p>
<p>And so he strummed. The melody rushed back to him with ease, and he let it flutter from his lips. Quiet, at first, then getting louder, in a sweeping crescendo of power and emotion. </p>
<p>And as he sang, the world heard him. </p>
<p>The trees leaned in to listen. The clouds lent him an ear. The churning water of rivers and streams quieted to listen to the song, and flowers sprung up from the lush grass, blooming and weeping to his melody. </p>
<p>The world was hushed, and at his attention. </p>
<p>A warm breeze picked up, circling him and carrying leaves from the trees with it. </p>
<p>Orpheus watched all of this happen as he sang, feeling a swell of hope in his chest. He realized how much he’d been missing the way his music could touch the world, and thought, perhaps, it could make the gaping hole in his heart feel not as gaping. </p>
<p>And as the zephyrs whistled around him, and the vibrant blossoms rose from the grass, and the clouds seemed to part to let the sun shine on the poor boy, Orpheus finished his song. </p>
<p>He let his hand drop, the guitar still ringing softly. </p>
<p>He turned to Hermes, with eyes bright and shining, and with a face that looked alive again. And, with his voice full of hope, he asked him one more question. </p>
<p>“Do you think she heard me?” </p>
<p>***</p>
<p>The dull thuds of hammers and pickaxes echoed throughout the underground like a heartbeat. Steady and rhythmic and incessant. </p>
<p>It was all Eurydice could listen to. </p>
<p>She had grown used to the sound. She had grown used to all of it: the heat, the rustic smell, the loneliness of it all. </p>
<p>As she worked, Eurydice let herself get lost in her mind. Doing work underground was mindless, and, like all the other workers, she entered a trance after a while, not speaking or really thinking, and not talking—no one spoke. It would only be drowned out by the endless droning of “keep your head low,” enterally sung by everyone in the underground. </p>
<p>No one would have spoken anyway. Nothing to talk about, no reason to try. Not when there was work to do. So much work to do. </p>
<p>So Eurydice was always lost in her memories; never quite coming to, for fear of losing the only thing she had left. </p>
<p>She thought of the sun, longing to bathe in its light again. She thought of the feeling of soft grass on her skin. She thought of the sweet smell of flowers, and the taste of nectar. </p>
<p>And, more than anything, she thought of Orpheus. </p>
<p>She missed him. She missed him terribly. </p>
<p>She missed things about him that she never would have expected to miss as desperately as she did. Little things like his hands, calloused and gentle, or the way his cheeks would dimple when he smiled, or how his hazel eyes would brighten when he saw her. </p>
<p>But now Orpheus was gone. And so Eurydice swung her hammer, thinking only of the Earth and the lover she had left behind. </p>
<p>Until one day. </p>
<p>One day, she heard something. Above the beating of the hammers, over her yearning thoughts. Something up above. </p>
<p>A sound. Something she’d heard before… a song. A familiar song. </p>
<p>As it grew louder, her memory rushed back to her, and she felt her eyes begin to sting. She knew exactly what this sound was. Who was singing. </p>
<p>It was Orpheus.</p>
<p>No, it couldn’t be. It couldn’t be Orpheus, singing the same song he had sung to Hades, the song that had given her so much hope. </p>
<p>But she was really hearing him again. Really hearing Orpheus, her lover, who she thought she would never hear again, and, by all accounts, shouldn’t be hearing again. </p>
<p>But she was. It was him. She felt goosebumps appear on her skin as she listened to him croon. </p>
<p>She heard the sound of the striking hammers stop, as the workers listened with her, gazing at the ceiling. They straightened, standing tall. </p>
<p>And all together, they stood and listened to Orpheus sing. </p>
<p>Eurydice felt a tear roll down her cheek. She felt her heart ache for him, so far up above. She wished she could listen to his song forever. </p>
<p>When Orpheus finished singing, it was much too soon. </p>
<p>But it wasn’t over. </p>
<p>Orpheus had finished singing, but the song was not over. </p>
<p>For a moment, there was only silence. It had been so long since anyone had heard something different; something to break up the chanting of “keep your head low,” and the beating of hammers. No one had heard silence in a long time. </p>
<p>And then the sound started up again. Quiet and slow. Eurydice almost thought she was imagining it. </p>
<p>A singular voice, carrying the melody. Shaky, soft. </p>
<p>And then it got louder. It got stronger. </p>
<p>More people began to sing, and then, suddenly, everyone was singing Orpheus’s song; a storm of a song with overlapping crescendos and harmonies; surging, messy, and wonderful. </p>
<p>It was one of the most beautiful things Eurydice had ever heard. </p>
<p>She took a deep breath, more tears spilling from her eyes, and then her own voice rang out, clear and above all the others. The song quieted. And then it began to follow her lead. </p>
<p>And as all of the workers sang with her, drowning out the sounds of machinery, and bringing a soft feeling of hope to everyone for the first time in so long, Eurydice hoped Orpheus could hear.</p>
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